I went to Val’s the other night to watch the Olympics with them and drink some farmer’s market rootbeer from the big blue bottle. I arrived there without shoes, and came home wearing a pair of my own flip flops.
Navigate with me the strange waters of old roommates / old friends / what-do-we-call-each-other-now-and-can-it-not-include-the-word-“old”??
a) I found myself in the car and realized I wasn’t wearing shoes…
b) A long while ago I had borrowed to Val my flip flops and conveniently, she remembered that she had them, so I just wore them home.
Later that night I figured out why I wasn’t wearing shoes in the first place. In my mind, when I’m going to watch some TV with Val, I must only need to walk out into the short dorm hall or down the creaky red house steps. “We live in the same place, so no need for shoes!” says my mind. Except for she’s been married over a year now and I have to drive to get to her. Maybe one of these days I’ll get used to that. 🙂
Related: this post with a pic from our castle unicorn jaunt. (P.S. Val, I think this is how some shoes of yours ended up at my house??)